Danny Phantom: Origins
by Paige0Turner
Summary: Ever since the incident in my parents' lab, things have been strange. I have these new powers, and I'm seeing dead people everywhere! And what's with this murderous ghost lady, and what is her connection to Casper High?
1. Chapter 1

My parents were having kind of an off day. Which, for them, was saying something. Normally their insatiable appetite for answers would overcome any doubts they might've had, but today was different. For what was probably the thousandth time since I'd come downstairs to watch, my dad lifted a bizarre-looking remote device and aimed it toward the far wall. Slowly, as if he wasn't sure he even wanted to, he held his thumb over a red button on the device, letting it hover there for a moment. He and my mom exchanged glances, then, without further ado, he pressed the button. And…

Nothing happened. "Not again!" my dad growled in frustration as he dropped their current project unceremoniously onto the lab table. "I don't understand! We've been at this for days, and it's still not working! What are we doing wrong?" He yanked his protective eye-goggles off and settled into one of the stools, massaging his temples. His orange jumpsuit was smudged up to the elbows with grease and soot, and he had taken off his boots hours ago. My mom was wearing her usual teal-blue jumpsuit and had pulled its hood down. Sweat plastered their hair to both their faces. She walked around the table to sit next to him.

"Calm down, Jack," she said as she placed a reassuring arm on his shoulder, "I'm sure there's something to this we're just not seeing. We just need a little bit more time. We'll figure it out."

"That's just it, Maddie, sometimes I wonder if that's really true. Maybe we're chasing a goose blindly. We've been researching all of it for years. And all we have to show for it is…this," and at that he made a gesture with his hand that indicated the room they were in. To call it a room wouldn't be entirely accurate though. It was actually one of the most impressive labs I had ever seen. Not that I've ever seen any other lab. But if I had, I'm sure this one would top it.

Its walls, which were made of a strong solid metal, supported a high-vaulted domed ceiling worthy of an ancient church. It was a little less on the artistic side though, and instead favored the cold chrome feel of a highly advanced laboratory. Piping and wiring wound in and out of the walls, built to aid a system only my parents could hope to understand. In the far wall where my dad had aimed the device, a man-sized hole had been cut meticulously and framed. It was a very short-very cylindrical-hallway to nowhere, its walls were lined by a complicated array of buttons and wires and who knew what else. It was their latest pet project, the 'Ghost Portal.' But more on that later. The best part of the lab?

It was all built and hidden right under our house. Imagine. A secret, technologically advanced lab built right under everyone's noses. Cool, huh?

You'd think so, except my parents' obsessions could sometimes be less than cool. Like now for instance. This latest project had taken up so much of their time and energy that these past couple weeks the only times I had seen them or talked to them had been for about five seconds in the mornings before I left for school and at night when we all ate dinner together. Now, I'm not usually too excited about hanging out with my parents. I _am _a teenager for crying out loud. But, I mean, come on. It'd be nice to at least have a conversation with my parents that went beyond the obligatory how-was-your-day formalities. That's why today I had ventured downstairs to see just what was keeping them down here all these hours. They had been so engrossed in their work, they hadn't even looked up when I let myself in.

They had several lab tables situated throughout the room, and right now, I had cleared myself a spot between the beakers and other various lab equipment to make room for my school books at one of them. I had been spending this evening alternating between doing my homework and shuffling through songs on my iPod. Cool, I know. Sue me. Eventually, though, I couldn't help but observe my parents' decline from puzzled to downright stumped as attempt after attempt failed.

I'm not sure exactly what they had been expecting to happen. I mean, I know _something_ was supposed to happen. I was pretty sure this big fat nothing wasn't it though. You know that Ghost Portal I mentioned? I had a vague idea of the concept behind it. And I'll tell you, as long as you promise not to laugh.

You see, my parents, scientific geniuses that they were, believed in ghosts. I'll wait a moment while that sinks in. And another while you give me that look. The 'I-think-he's-messing-with-me-but-then-again-he-might-just –be-weird' look.

Yes. I said they believe in ghosts. G-H-O-S-T-S. As in, ectoplasmic spirits of the dead. Or whatever they really are.

They had this running theory that ghosts resided in an alternate plane they called 'the Ghost World,' and they were determined to open a portal to it. Hence the cleverly dubbed 'Ghost Portal.' Like I said, they weren't exactly artistic, but at least it was easier to remember than some of the words NASA came up with for things.

They had been working on it on and off for as long as I could remember. My dad had tried to explain it to me awhile back, and I remember thinking this was the scientist dad's version of teaching his kid to play catch. He had gone on and on about 'multiverse theories' and heaven and Hades and all kinds of stuff. If that had been a father-son playing catch scenario, I would have been the pathetic dweeb who couldn't catch a ball if it were handed to him for all the sense it made to me. It all pretty much went in one ear and out the other.

Recently though, my parents must have had a stroke of scientific inspiration and had taken to obsessively fine-tuning and testing this thing until it was complete. It didn't look like that inspiration was getting them very far though. I personally had my doubts about all this, but who knew.

Just as I was beginning to contemplate whether or not I should head off to bed, my mom beat me to it. "Maybe tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, we can figure this out," she suggested "It's already past eleven."

My dad sighed and stopped rubbing his temples long enough to look up at my mom. "You're right, tomorrow is another day. The world better look out then, because the Fentons are going to open a door to a new world!" So saying, he and my mom slipped off their stools and headed upstairs, looking pretty discouraged. I was pretty sure they had been so absorbed in their work that they hadn't even noticed me come downstairs. I was even more sure when I heard the loud _thunk_that was the light lever going down and the entire room was thrown into complete pitch black darkness.

"Um…dad? Mom?" I called out, "Hello! I'm still down here!"

Nobody answered.

They had left me! In the freaking dark! Luckily, I wasn't really scared of the dark. Well, not _that_ scared of it.

I slid off my stool cautiously made my way toward what I hoped was the stairway up. I had to be careful. My parents' inventions, while not very artistic, could sometimes lean on the lethal side. I held out my hands zombie-like in front of me, feeling for something in front of me, a wall preferably, that I could follow.

It's too bad we don't have arms at about feet level though, because after about five steps my foot caught on something and I fell down hard onto the tile floor. My knee hit something sharp and unpleasantly painful on the ground. Ouch.

I picked myself up and set out to start walking again. Only, I had no clue which direction to go in now. I walked even more blindly and gingerly now, taking care to shuffle my feet without lifting them off the ground. After a few minutes of this, my foot struck something as I was shuffling forward and I stubbed my toe. I tried to catch myself with my other foot, but it caught on something else and, of course, I fell again. I instinctively reached out for something to break my fall. Instead of breaking my fall though, my left hand caught on some wires, pulling them down with me. I felt several of them pull tight and snap. That wasn't good.

I was starting to feel a little panicked now. Was it possible to die crawling around in the dark for too long? Now that would be a headline for the ages. _Teen Boy Dies Lost in Own Home._

I decided crawling until I found a wall to follow was probably my safest bet at this point. I began to crawl forward on my left arm and both my legs, holding out my right arm. I barely scooted forward one inch before my foot struck a wall behind me, and my hand ran into a wall in front of me. _What the…?_ I thought, confused. Then I realized where I was. How had I gotten all the way over to the Ghost Portal?

Still, it meant I had finally found a wall. I stood up, taking extra care to keep my hand firmly planted on the wall, and started to walk forward. As I did so, I felt my right hand slide across something that went inward beneath my touch, until it was flush with the wall. Then there was a loud _click._

Then, two things happened. First, the low rumble of a large machine warming up filled the confined space. It was like being inside an erupting volcano. Then, I was blinded by a searing green light that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

The rumbling sound built up to a loud and chaotic crescendo and my ears started to hurt. Then, out of nowhere, my body was struck by a force that was unbelievably cold. It felt like someone had taken an egg with ice-yolk inside, and had cracked it in my head, letting the ice flow down through my veins and into the rest of my body. Almost immediately after, the feeling was replaced by a warming sensation that started in my mid-section and radiated outwards to my toes and feet. Slowly, the warming sensation became hotter and hotter, until I felt as though I had been thrown into molten lava. White hot pain wiped out my senses until it was the only thing I knew. It was excruciating. Every time I thought it couldn't hurt more, it did, until, finally. Mercifully. Everything went black.

Author's Note: Okay, so this is an idea that has been playing around in my head for a bit. This focuses on my take of Danny's beginnings, with my own little twists thrown in. I'm not really sure if I'll continue this. It depends on feedback I get, so please review to let me know what you think. Sorry for the relatively short chapter.

P.S. (added 4/24/2011: Fixed some typos and weird wordings here)

(added 5/11/2011: Just made some minor changes…)


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing I noticed, before I was even fully conscious, was that something was just plain _wrong._ I couldn't quite place it, but I had an overwhelming sense that something was out of place. It was as if some giant had ripped the fabric of time and space and had haphazardly stitched it back together before anyone might notice.

The second thing I noticed as I slowly surfaced was that I had one massive headache and my stomach was planning a violent revolt. For several long seconds, it was all I could do to concentrate on breathing and keeping my stomach contents where they belonged. Finally, after a few more agonizing seconds, I opened my eyes. A split second of panic and confusion hit me as I took in my surroundings. I was somewhere with walls lined with electric chords and wiring and metal. This wasn't my room! _Where could I-?_

I groaned as images of what had happened before I'd passed out came rushing back to me full force.

I had been in the lab. I had somehow found my way into the Ghost Portal. And then there'd been that weird green light, and the not-so-pleasant burning sensation. It was all so fragmented and confusing, and my headache got worse the more I tried to think about it. _So let's not think about that for now._ I decided and pulled myself into a sitting position. My stomach heaved again and I willed it to stop its mutiny. It took a few moments of steady breathing for it to settle itself, then I managed to bring myself to a standing position.

_Water,_ I realized. I needed water. My mouth was parched.

Now that I knew where I was, it was easy enough to navigate my way toward the small bathroom my parents had installed in the lab. As I stumbled over, I couldn't shake the persistent sense of…I don't know…something off-kilter. And was it just me, or was it _freezing_ down here? The more I started moving around, the more I started to notice the near sub-zero temperature. It was like ice down there! Had my parents turned the AC all the way down for some Fenton-crazed reason? Strangely enough, it didn't seem like anything around me was icing up. What was going on? More importantly, what was I doing down there at –I glanced at my parents' backwards analogue clock on the wall-three? Shit. Was that three in the morning or the afternoon? It was just as I was opening the door to the bathroom that I realized something.

When I had glanced up at the clock I had noticed it out of the corner of my eye, but hadn't really _noticed_it. I glanced back again, just to be sure. Yup, it was what I saw, all right.

All the lights in the lab were off.

Not a big deal, right?

Wrong.

It was an underground lab. It should have been pitch black down there without any lights on. Yet here I was, able to see all around me like I had freaking _night vision_. Except it wasn't exactly the same. Now that I noticed the lights were off, I realized that it was dark. And yet, I had no problem seeing. It was almost as though I wasn't exactly _seeing_ but instead I was just _sensing_ things around me. I don't really know what sense to call it, because it didn't quite fit in to the five senses I was familiar with. An unsettling feeling of vertigo was starting to take hold.

_Whoah._I shook my head to clear it. _Focus, Danny. This is all getting a little too M. Night Shyamalan for me._Water. I needed some water. After I got something to drink, I could ponder the mysteries of the world if I wanted to. Right now, I was probably just sick or something and needed to get some fluids and some rest. That, or this was some seriously vivid hallucination. Tucker hadn't put anything in that food from Nasty Burger today, had he?

I was busy comforting myself with these comparatively less unsettling thoughts when I caught someone in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Startled, I whipped around faster than I knew I could, ready to kill and maim or run and cower from whoever was behind me. When I turned around though, there was nothing behind me but air. Confused, I scoured the lab with my eyes, searching for my would-be assailant, but I didn't see anything. It had looked so _real_though. "That's it," I decided, "I knew those french fries tasted weird." I took a few deep breaths to calm my breathing and turned around to finally get some water.

Only to jump in surprise when the figure I had seen out of the corner of my eye earlier was standing right in front of me. Or rather, was standing _in the mirror_ in front of me. He was just standing there, looking at me with a stupid wide-eyed expression. I couldn't really do much else besides stare back. "What the…" I breathed, leaning in to get a closer look. It was only as the stranger in the mirror mirrored my own actions exactly that a sudden realization took hold of me.

That was _my_reflection in the mirror. _Me._ Daniel Fenton. Only it wasn't me. At least, it didn't really look exactly like me. He was the same height and build as me; not exactly the tallest or the most athletic, but not incredibly short or horrifically skinny either. The face was the same shape, but that's where the similarities ended. He was wearing the same clothes I had on, a pair of simple jeans and a cotton T-shirt. But while the clothes were the same type, the colors were inverted. My originally dark blue jeans now looked lighter in color than my T-shirt, which had originally been white. Where my hair was black like my dad's, my reflection's hair was a stark white opposite. And while _my_ eyes were normal blue ones, my reflection's eyes were an iridescent green, close to the color I'd imagine cartoon radioactive waste might look if it were around in real life.

I looked down at my now-light pants and now-dark shirt. It took a one very long moment for it to really sink in that _that_ was me. It wasn't the reflection of someone else in the mirror. I had transformed somehow. With that realization came the sudden horror. What had happened? What if I was stuck this way for forever? What would I do? I couldn't show up at school like this! I wouldn't last a day at Casper High. Piranhas like Dash and his pals would eat me up in a heartbeat. Suddenly, more than anything, I desperately hoped that this was all just a very bad dream and that I was back to normal again.

Almost just as suddenly, an icy sensation started in my gut and started radiating outwards. As I felt this, in my reflection I saw a glowing silver ring of energy form around my midsection, and then become two as it split off in opposite directions. One traveling upwards toward my head, the other traveled downward toward my feet until they both dissipated, leaving behind a reverted _normal_ me in their wake.

In a fit of disbelief, I hurriedly inspected my reflection in the mirror again, checking for something-_anything_- even remotely out of place. An extra finger. A missing tooth. A mole I'd never seen before. Anything. But it all seemed to be just the same as I remembered it. It was like it had never even happened.

Okay, that had to be the weirdest, most random, and most vivid dream I'd ever had.

I needed to go to bed now. That was it. I just needed to go upstairs, put on my pajamas, and get some good old-fashioned R&R. Then I could sort all this out. This had to be some crazy, wacked out, psycho dream from my overactive subconscious. That decided, I made my way upstairs, and opened the lab door as quietly as I could. It was a heavy, thick, metal door that was probably better fit for a military base than a suburban home. Here it was, though, just down the hall from the stairway leading up to the second floor where the bedrooms were. I glanced up and down the hallway before I ventured out, noting the lack of sunlight from the hexagon shaped window. So it was three in the _morning_. That gave me about four hours before I had to get up and ready for school. Terrific.

I tip-toed up the stairs and took extra care going past my sister's room until I arrived at my door. I let out a pent up sigh of relief after quietly closing my door behind me. "Made it!" I hissed victoriously. I wasn't exactly sure why I was being so cautious. Sure, I didn't want to wake anyone, but my family could sleep through a lot of stuff. I had spent enough late nights awake by myself to know that. So then why was I being so meticulously…_sneaky?_ It wasn't like I had anything to hide. Still, I didn't want to wake anyone. I catalogued the thought in my think-about-it-in-the-morning file as I gazed at the inviting unmade mess that was my bed. It didn't take me long to slip out of my shoes and crawl in. I think I was out before my head even so much as _thought_ about that pillow.

_It was cold again. It seeped through the skin and burrowed down deep into the bones, making them ache. Oh, how the bones_ached. _Always aching with a deep hurt that was more than pain. So deep down. Beneath the cartilage. Into the marrow. The warm, flowing marrow._

_And the flesh! Yes, the flesh. It was positively frozen solid. It was as red and beautiful as the day it had been exposed and presented in all its glory. The flesh had bled before, when it was warm and much more succulent. When a heart had pumped the life through it in a pointless, endless cycle._

_Now it hung there. Suspended, waiting for its purpose._

_And that purpose would come soon. For steel was here. The rusted, beloved beauty. It still sang its hungry song after so long. It called. It had a purpose too._

_Cut! Slice! Tenderize! And cut again! Such art! Such beauty! This is what it all meant!_

_No higher purpose than that. It was simple. The order of things._

_And to that end, the steel had more work to do. It was time to break the cycle. The endless monotonous prison._

_Beneath the steel, a live-flesh heart still pumped incessantly. Fruitlessly. It would soon understand, as it unknowingly pumped the life source to the rest of the world. Betraying. Relinquishing its selfish hold forever._

_The steel would help. It would convince the flesh to present itself to the world in all its glory. It always took a bit of persuading though. A_cut_here, and the blood was free. And a_slice _there, and out came some more! Gushing forth, eager to greet the world it had been imprisoned from for so long. And now, a bit of tenderizing was in order. Unfortunately, the steel had to be less-than-immaculate here. Bludgeoning and butchering. But the flesh submitted willfully now, bending to the steel's every whim._

_It was all around now, the crimson life! It made it warm now, on the skin. But the bones. Oh, how they_ached _with the cold still. Deep, beneath the cartilage. Into the marrow. Oh the warm, flowing marrow._

_And the-_

"Danny! That's the fifth time already! It's time to leave for school right now! What are you still doing in-whoah! What's up with you?" The voice's speaker jumped back when I started awake. My breath was coming out in short gasps, and sweat had cooled on my skin, making me shiver convulsively.

It was Jazz's voice. Not exactly the most pleasant thing to wake up to in the morning. But considering the alternative, I was willing to endure it. "I…it was…" How could I describe what I had just experienced? 'The most terrifying and lucid yet certifiably insane dream I had ever had?' Knowing my sister, she would pounce on the chance to explore the deeper psychological roots of this nightmare. That was one conversation I could do without right now. "It was nothing. You just scared me." I finished lamely.

"Well, I've been by your room about ten times now. You're going to be late. You forgot to turn on your alarm again, didn't you?" My sister asked, eyes narrowed accusingly. She favored our mom's end of the gene pool. She had her greenish-blue hazel eyes and her fiery red hair. She was only two years older than me but already acted like she knew everything. Ever since she got the idea into her head that she was going to be a psychologist, she'd been trying to psycho-analyze everyone all the time. And ever since a recent mishap at school, she seemed to think I was on a downward spiral to unavoidable troubled teenhood.

I sighed in irritation, "I just need a second, okay. You don't need me to go to school with you, do you? I'm just going to be a little late." I really just needed a second to wake up and pull my mind together.

"You can't afford to be late, Danny, not with the grades your getting," Jazz persisted. "I'm waiting until you leave, and if you make me late, trust me, you'll wish you'd gotten up earlier."

I half groaned, half growled in frustration. Jazz, always thought she knew what was best. She acted like she thought she was my mom or something. I reached for a pillow to throw at her and chase her out of the room with…and my hand just went right _through_ it. Okay, so maybe not _everything_ I remembered from last night had been a dream. My hand had just gone right through a solid object, as though I was some sort of…my eyes widened. _No way_.

This morning was turning out to be one hell of a day.

On second thought. Maybe I needed more than just a second to pull my thoughts together. Luckily my sister was too busy standing stubbornly in the doorway and trying to look resolute to notice my current predicament. I wished she would just leave me alone once in awhile. "Listen Jazz, I'm not in the mood right now. Can you take your overbearing loony shrink circus somewhere else right now?" She looked a little put out at that.

"Fine, if you don't want to listen to reason, Danny. But you need to go to school today, or mom and dad will hear about you-know-what." And she slammed the door. I was momentarily stunned. I hadn't seen my sister acting that emotional for a long time. Slamming a door was pretty high up there on the Richter scale for a normal person, but for her…it must've been something I'd said.

I didn't really spare a lot of time thinking about her though. I was a little preoccupied with my hand, which seemed to have turned back to normal. I wasn't even sure what had just happened or how, which was a feeling I was beginning to become uncomfortably familiar with. One thing was for sure, though. Today was going to be one interesting day at Casper High…

A.N.: Hi there. Well, reception seems pretty positive. Thank you for the reviews and questions. Keep them coming, they are really encouraging and help me refine my story! I'm enjoying writing it so far. I promise_,_**_things will get more interesting in the next chapter._** Exposition is a necessary evil.


	3. Chapter 3

_A.N.: So here it is another chapter already. Thank you for you kind reviews. I'm going to refrain from answering questions, as they will be answered eventually, and I don't want to give too much away in author's notes._

_I need to seriously consider getting a beta reader…_

_So…please let me know what you think. _

_End Author's Note_

"Nice of you to show up," Tucker hissed as I collapsed in a breathless heap in my chair next to him. He was wearing his trusty red beret as usual and had his PDA at the ready on his desk. "Where've you been, man? What happened to our 'master plan?'" Well, that was one way to greet a friend in the morning, he hadn't even said so much as 'hello.' Mr. Latchet's morning speech must've been particularly grueling this time around. I settled into my seat and fished out a notebook and pen from my backpack.

First period with Mr. Latchet.

Now, if there was one silver lining to this morning, it was missing that guy's morning rant. He seemed to think he owed it to the world to educate and enlighten his homeroom class in all matters not pertaining to his subject. Last week it had been 'matters of the heart.' Trust me; you don't really want to know the details.

_Too bad I didn't miss his whole class._ I mused ruefully.

Finally, I turned to Tucker. "I was at home," I told him. _And what plan was he talking about?_

"Home?" Tucker half-whispered, half-shouted incredulously. "Dude, we were going to get that free breakfast at Nasty Burger before class today! Did you forget or something?"

_Oh. That plan._I shifted guiltily, "It…must've slipped my mind after..."

But he wasn't buying it. "Um, maybe you didn't hear me right, Danny. I said 'free food' at '_Nasty Burger_,'" at this he mimed quotes with his first two fingers for emphasis, "How could you forget that?"

He was right. Don't let the name fool you, Nasty Burger was a perfect restaurant where every teen could feed their inner greasy-food needs. They had the best breakfast combo in town and they had a special once-a-year event going on now. Tuck's favorite three meat breakfast combo was free until noon. Tuck and I hadn't missed a year for the past three years. Until now.

Some friend I was. I hadn't even _thought_ about it this morning. "I'm sorry, Tuck. It's a long story, I'll explain more la…ter…" I stopped short when I finally became aware of a presence hovering behind Tucker and me. I was pretty sure I knew exactly who it was, too. I swallowed nervously as a feeling of deep dread gripped me. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't _not_ look. Woodenly, I turned around.

It was Mr. Latchet, just standing there, glowering at the two of us with a pretty unhappy look on his face. He was probably one of the tallest teachers I'd ever seen. And he was big, too. Not big like Mr. Lancer, who had a pot-belly grown from middle age, but big in a Schwarzenegger body-builder kind of way. He shaved his head bald too, and right now I could see a muscle twitching at his temple. I swear this guy had to have been some pro-wrestler or biker gang member before he ever became a teacher. He had this anger he seemed barely capable of keeping in check. He didn't talk like one, though. His voice was about ten octaves lower than a normal human's, and it dripped with malice as he finally spoke. "Ah, Fenton, so nice of you to join us today. Please, I see that Foley and yourself need to finish your lovers' spat," I heard several appreciative snickers at this, "And you can do it in detention today after school."

"Hah hah! Yeah, Fenton," my favorite person in the world, Dash Baxter, chimed in, "I always knew you and Foley were close. I just never realized _how_close until now." The class seemed to think he was a real riot. You can see why he was my favorite.

I had always thought TV exaggerated jocks and their undesirable qualities until I met Dash. He was the school's blond-haired blue-eyed idol and star football player. Translate: untouchable. Last week, he and I had sort of gotten into a fight (that had been entirely _his_fault), and he had gotten away with it with just a slap on the wrist. The only reason I hadn't gotten a call home and a week's detention was because my sister was the school's pet academic success and had managed to smooth things over with Mr. Lancer. A small part of me wanted to stand up right then and there and give him what he gave. But the smaller yet more vocal and logical side of me won out. I didn't need to get in to trouble again; Jazz was already intolerable as it was.

Instead, to my surprise, Mr. Latchet turned to Dash, "And while I appreciate class participation, I don't need your commentary, Baxter."

I couldn't resist a satisfied smirk in Dash's direction before Mr. Latchet turned his attention back to Tucker and me. I plastered on what I hoped was a placating smile. I was just about to speak up when I felt my foot go intangible. I knew that's what it was because it felt just like my hand had when it had passed through the pillow earlier that morning. It felt like it had been numbed, but it also suddenly felt very cold. I blanched. I suddenly had no idea what I had been about to do or say. I just knew that I hoped everyone's attention was so focused on the me above my desk that they didn't notice anything weird going on with my foot. Tucker, seeing my apparent stage-fright, opened his mouth to cover for me.

Before he could even speak, though, the classroom door flew open and in burst Sam Manson, our resident goth and supporter of all causes lost. She was dressed in her usual uniform of doom. Today it was a green and black plaid miniskirt and a black tank top. The whole thing was made complete by her purple tight things (or 'leggings' as my sister would knowingly correct) and boots she wore. Her backpack was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and in her other hand she carried a picket sign that read 'Stop the Cruelty!'

Mr. Latchet was now directing his wrathful gaze in her direction, Tucker and I completely forgotten. _Saved by the goth_. I sighed inwardly. Mr. Latchet's voice was getting dangerously quiet when he asked, "Miss Manson. Can I ask you why you are, _yet again,"_ the muscle spasm in his temple gave a particularly violent lurch, "Coming into my classroom late and disrupting all the students?"

Sam was either unaware of Latchet's barely-contained anger, or was just plain unrepentant. From what I'd seen of her, I was guessing the latter was true. "Somebody had to give a voice to those poorly-treated animals Nasty Burger was giving away as food this morning," she proclaimed passionately, "They don't have a voice of their own."

Mr. Latchet took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if to calm himself. "While I'm glad to see a student so civically engaged, Miss Manson, I don't appreciate it on _my_time. That's why I think it'll do you some good to give back some of your time in detention. I'll see you after school. Now," Mr. Latchet stepped out from behind Tucker and myself and went back to the front of the room, effectively cutting off any response from Sam, "Maybe we can do some actual _learning_ today."

Sam fumed but sat down without a word in the only empty seat left; the one behind me. Great. The first and last time I'd talked to her, we hadn't exactly hit it off. Still, she had saved us from a long-winded lecture from Mr. Latchet, even if she didn't know it, and I felt like she deserved some sympathy. I turned around about to try and do just that. Instead, I saw her eyes widen and then narrow when she noticed Tucker sitting next to me.

"_You_." She had managed to fill that one word with enough loathing and scorn to send a small shiver down my spine. I was glad I wasn't the object of her attention at the moment. Had I missed more than free food this morning?

Tucker didn't look overly concerned as I was, instead he looked just as happy to see Sam as she did to see him. "Oh hi, Miss-"

"Can this wait?" I asked before things could go any further, "I think we've all gotten in enough trouble for one class period." They both glowered at each other for a moment before finally relenting. Sam turned and stared resolutely forward, pretending to pay attention to Mr. Latchet. Tucker turned to me and rolled his eyes and pointed and Sam with one hand while swirling his other finger around his ear in the universal sign for 'crazy.'

I had been right. Today was turning out to be incredibly and mercilessly _interesting._

Fortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker were in my following two classes before lunch, so things were relatively peaceful until then. Well, peaceful, unless you count multiple incidents where a limb or two of mine decided to go intangible. At one point, on the way up the stairs to third period, I felt both of my legs going intangible. To my absolute horror, I had started sinking towards the ground, and I had a horrible thought of myself sinking deep underground. In desperation, I latched on to the handrail and pulled myself up. Still panicked, I willed my legs to turn solid again and to my surprise, they _did._

_Okay,_I thought, _That's one good thing._ It seemed like I actually had some sort of control over all this. I hadn't realized how scared I had been about how utterly out of my hands it all seemed until I felt a wave of relief with this new knowledge. Then another thought occurred to me. If I could will my legs to go _tangible,_was it possible to do it the other way around? I decided to experiment with that later, in a less public place.

Finally, after a riveting hour of Geometry, it was 11:40. Time for lunch.

_Finally,_I thought with a sigh of relief after third period, _A chance to tell Tucker about these bizarre things that have been happening since last night._I decided I'd take the less-used hallway to lunch. It was a longer and more out-of-the-way rout, and it had kind of a bad reputation. None of the classrooms in the hall bad been used in years. Partly because less students went to Casper High than there used to be, but also partly because it was the oldest wing of the school. And when you combine an old building doing what old buildings do with a population of gossiping, irrational teenagers, you got a haunted hall. My parents had actually spent the night collecting data here once, but nothing had turned up. The rumors would mean more privacy just in case my body got any more ideas about going intangible though. I was trying to figure out where to start with Tucker about all the weirdness when something strange happened.

I was inexplicably struck with a fierce and pervasive chill and my body started shivering uncontrollably. I breathed out, my teeth chattering, and saw my breath mist in the air. Beneath it all was that feeling from back in the lab again. That feeling of wrongness. _It was in that dream I'd had afterwards too_, I realized as it came back to me in fits and starts. _Disturbing images passed behind my eyes. Images of meat. All kinds of it lying around in various stages of preparation. Giant gutted pig carcasses hung off the ceiling on hooks. And there were the knives, old rusty things that had hung on the walls. And it was vague and distorted, but I swore I saw something that looked suspiciously like a…a body._ I stopped and searched the hallway around me. It was deserted, and it immediately hit home how isolated and _vulnerable_ I was. _If I shout for help, will anyone hear me?_ I wondered. I continued to shiver, but I wasn't sure it all had to do with the cold anymore.

I started and whirled around at a noise coming from behind me. _Sssssst, step. Sssssst, step._ It went. It sounded like someone was dragging something across the hard tile floor. I peered, struggling to see down the hallway, but I didn't see anyone. After a moment of concentration, I realized it sounded like the sound was coming from down the stairway to my right. I peered down it, my heart racing, and my breath coming out short as I continued to shiver. I couldn't see past the last step, as it was obscured in darkness. _Oh, no._ I had seen enough teen slasher flicks to know better. I was _not_about to go down and investigate some creepy noise coming from some creepy basement.

I was _not._

And yet…

Something about this felt familiar. I can't really explain it. It was as if something primal and unchanged in me _remembered_this. You know that feeling of déjà vu you sometimes get, where you feel like you've done something before, but you know you haven't? Well, multiply that by about one hundred, and you have an idea of what I was feeling. I was standing there, contemplating whether or not I was about to do something really stupid, when I noticed I could make out a vague shape moving at the bottom of the steps. It was hobbling forward, as if it was laboring under a heavy weight. I couldn't tell what it was, but it looked like it was dragging some sort of sack behind it.

"Hello?" I asked, rather than said, uncertain of what else to do. The figure paused for a moment, and what I thought was its head looked up at me. Then it just started shuffling forward again, as if I hadn't said anything.

I tried a different tact, "I said 'hello.' Usually people respond when someone says hello. And honestly, you're kind of freaking me out down there." In a normal situation, this would be true. So maybe if I just played it off like that, things would be okay. Easier said than done when every cell in your body is telling you something about this was not right.

The figure stopped again when I said this. This time, it set down the sack and stood up straight. It happened so fast I didn't even see it coming. One second I was standing at the top of the stairs, alone. The next second the figure was rushing up the stairs so fast they were a blur. I jumped when the figure stopped on the step just in front of me, its face right in front of mine.

And what an ugly face it was, too. I'm not being mean. It just was. The figure was an old woman whose face was so gaunt and lined with age, it was barely recognizable as human. She had several cuts on her face that were still bleeding, too. I wasn't really willing to look closer, but I was pretty sure I saw puss seeping out of a few of them. The wisps of white hair that clung to her discolored skin in small patches around her skull were contained by a hairnet. A white apron clung loosely to her haggard frame, as though it had been tied when she had been larger, but she had since lost weight. Tied around it was a belt that held several sheathed knives. She looked emaciated, like some sort of starved prisoner of war.

I had to swallow the bile that rose in my mouth when I caught a whiff of her rank breath as she opened her mouth. Just the small glimpse I caught of the inside of it was plenty. There were several rotting teeth and I could see bits and pieces of food stuck between the sizeable gaps between them. It smelled worse than it looked.

And then she started to talk. "Where are my manners, dearie?" she asked sweetly in a voice that was anything but. It sounded like someone had taken an old woman's voice and sent it through a wood-chipper and tried to glue it back together again. It set my teeth on edge. I think she tried to smile sweetly too, but it just looked like a hungry grin when she did. "Are you hungry?"

If I had been before, I most definitely wasn't anymore. "Uh, no thanks," I stammered back, trying to create some distance between us. My body was screaming at me to get the hell out of there. Every synapse in my brain was firing danger signals. What was I waiting for? An invitation? When a creepy old lady with a belt full of knives smiled at you like that, it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Without a second thought, I made a break for it. Before I got two feet, however, a cold, bony hand clamped down around my wrist. I tried to yank free, but there was no budging. The old woman was stronger than she looked.

"Where are you going, dearie?" She sounded genuinely hurt, "I only asked if you were hungry." Then, with a malicious grin, she yanked my hand viciously and sent me tumbling downstairs. I tried to reach for something, anything to stop my fall, but my hands grasped at thin air. My body hit the first step. Hard. Then again, and again, as I tumbled head-over-heels until I finally landed face-first on the floor with a sickening thud. I lay there for a second, trying not to think too much about how much everything _hurt._ I also tried not to think about the weird angle my arm had been at when I landed on it. It was a wonder I hadn't cracked my skull open on the way down. I was definitely going to be sore in the morning.

_If there ever is another morning._ I corrected myself, because just as I was having these thoughts, the old crone glided down the stairway to land somewhere behind my feet. My stomach lurched when I heard the unmistakable scrape of a steel knife being pulled out of its sheath. _Now would be a good time to move!_I thought in a panic. As usual, this was easier said than done. I tried pushing myself up with my arms, but yelped in pain and fell back down the instant I put any weight on my right hand. _Ow ow_ow!

I know, pretty pathetic. But you try falling down a flight of stairs and then tell me how you feel about getting up afterwards.

"Oh, dear," the hag's voice rasped behind me, "It looks like I've already started to tenderize the flesh a bit! We need to free the blood before that!"

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that, but it most definitely didn't sound very pleasant. I desperately needed to run, and I was pretty sure I could once I got up, but that was the tricky part. I didn't have time anyway. My mind was going blank. I was out of options. I was going to _die_ down there. For real. This crazy psycho lady out of some cheesy slasher flick was going to kill me and they were going to find my body cut to ribbons. I wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed I was missing. How long would it take them to find the body?

I shuddered. I could see her feet in front of my face now as she gingerly kneeled down. I tried pushing myself away from her with my legs, pulling myself with my good arm. She ruthlessly drove her knee down into my back, pinning me to the ground and send a spike of pain from my abused ribs. "So sorry you had to be here." She said apologetically, "I wasn't coming for you. Now, dearie, this might hurt a bit," she warned and grabbed my hair and yanked my head up to expose my neck. She brought a large rusty butcher knife out and I felt something cold and sharp prick the back of my neck. I had never been so painfully aware of the blood pumping through my veins, each heartbeat sounded loud in my ears. This was not happening. Not _happening. She's going to bleed me dry!_ I thought in a frenzied panic.

I was momentarily confused when she brought her hand back until I realized she was pulling back to strike. This crazy psycho wasn't going to drain me, she was going to decapitate me first. Or at least try. It would take a long time to do that with the rusty-looking hunk of metal she was using. Right then, I desperately wished I could be anywhere else.

"Be free," she rasped with her reeking breath in my ear. Then her arm came swinging down.


	4. Chapter 4

_A.N.: Hey anyone nice enough to be reading this. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to post s new chapter. I have finally found some time to type this up (it's four in the morning now). I'm having a blast with this internship I'm doing, but it sure does take up a lot of my time. _

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, errors and all, all the same despite its belatedness. _

_End AN_

Over the course of all 15 years of my life, I've discovered something useful. In this world, there are several different levels of sanity. There's 'going crazy:' a state of mind we're all doomed to be stuck in whether we realize it or not. There's 'going insane:' which some of us may or may not do at some point in our lives. There's 'going completely bat-shit insane:' which is a state of mind only a select few ever have the misfortune of reaching. And then, as I've learned from years of observing my parents' eccentricities, there's 'going ghost:' which, if you haven't already guessed, is Pretty. Damn. Crazy. My parents' almost manic obsession with ghosts sometimes made them act like a mad Frankesteinian scientist. So, I had dubbed their disturbing state of mind with the source of their lunacy: Ghosts.

I've always considered myself somewhere on the borderline between 'going crazy' and 'going insane.' Right about then, though, I was pretty sure I was going ghost.

In the mere milliseconds it took the rusty butcher knife to arch forward towards my inevitable end, my mind was racing. People always talk about how your life flashes before your eyes and I think that's sort of what happened to me right then.

Thoughts and faces exploded before my eyes, blossoming like drops of blood in water. Aside from the debilitating fear, I was wracked with disappointment. I saw them looking at me with the same expression on each of their faces. My Dad, my Mom, even Jazz looked at me with those somber eyes. Tucker was there, and another face I couldn't quite make out was there too. Their expressions all asked me _Why?_ I had never really sat down and thought about what dying would be like, but I think had been expecting something more…I don't know, _meaningful_ than that. I was going to be killed by someone I'd never met for some reason I'd never figure out, and that was that. It's not like I had been expecting anything heroic or glorious, but down in some abandoned basement? Killed by an old lady?

That kind of stung.

All these thoughts seemed to fire through my brain, clearing infinite synapses in nanoseconds. I flung my eyes open, which I hadn't even realized I had shut tight. I couldn't just _die!_

Without another moment's hesitation, I jerked back, driving the old woman's knobby knee deeper into my back, trying to avoid the knife. As I did so, all my thoughts focused on one thing: making myself intangible. It took everything I had, closing my eyes again in concentration, straining to make it happen before that metal sliced through the tender skin of my throat.

I felt the knife's surprisingly-sharp edge nick my neck just as I felt the cold, numbing feeling of concreteness leaving my body. Unable to break her considerable momentum, the old crone was thrown off balance, and her heavy knife struck the tile floor with a profound crash. It sounded like she had broken some of the tile. . I could feel where it had landed as it sent an odd stirring sensation down from my neck to my stomach. Her unnerving eyes now froze me with a wide-eyed expression of both astonishment and perverse fascination.

_Please, just go away. _I willed her. _Go away and leave me alone!_

Suddenly, inexplicably, her whole body stiffened. Her nostrils flared, as though she was either extremely mad, or sniffing for something in the air like an animal. Something passed in her eyes so quickly that I wasn't sure I really saw it or not. It looked suspiciously like fear though. She immediately yanked her knife out of the floor where she had embedded it, sending a few tile chunks flying. Without pausing, she took off, flying straight towards the brick wall. For a brief moment, I thought she was going to crash right into it. Instead, though, she went right through it, leaving a cold gust of wind in her wake.

For several long seconds, I didn't breathe. I lay there, tense, expecting at any moment that she would come back with a fierce vengeance. When nothing happened, I exhaled, allowing myself to return back to normal. I felt my limbs return to their normal temperature, the tips of my fingers and toes tingling slightly. I hadn't even realized how much effort I had been exerting just staying intangible until I felt my muscles start to tremble uncontrollably with exhaustion. I felt like I had just ran a 3-minute mile on a hot summer day without a drop of water.

On top of that, everything hurt just as much as before. I had cuts and bruises all over, and my ribs ached where they had slammed into a step particularly hard. My arm was still lying underneath me at an odd angle. It hadn't hurt initially, but now it was sending waves of aching pain, making me nauseous. I needed to breathe, and this laying on my stomach was making it difficult. I didn't think I could get up though. My left shoulder was shoved up against the bottom step, so I rolled to the right onto my back, groaning loudly as I inevitably rolled over my throbbing right arm.

I breathed in an appreciative lungful of air. _In and out, _I coached myself,_ in and out. _I was contemplating just how I planned on getting out of this mess when I noticed someone, or some_thing_ standing on the bottom step. _You've got to be kidding me, _my mind was screaming_, not another one! _It was enormous, and yet I hadn't even heard the steps come downstairs. There was light coming in from behind, so I couldn't quite make the figure out. With a surge of energy I didn't know I still had, I scrambled backwards, pushing with my feet and pulling with my left arm. My heart was pounding again, sending helpful doses of adrenaline through my system.

"Hold on!" a startlingly familiar voice called out, "Fenton?"

I paused mid crab-walk. Never in my entire life would I have thought I'd say this, but I had never been gladder to hear any voice. "Mr. Latchet?" I asked hesitantly, trying not to let the tears of relief I felt creep into my voice.

"What are you doing down here?" Mr. Latchet asked, his voice hard like an interrogator's. I sighed in relief and let myself collapse in a heap again. It was him alright. I was still reeling from everything that had just happened, and I was trying not to shake so much. I didn't even think to respond to his question.

"Fenton?" he asked again. I watched his silhouette reach for something on the wall to his left and was momentarily blinded as the flickering halogen lights he had just turned on warmed up. I blinked several times, willing my eyes to adjust. "Fenton?" He asked again, "What happened?" His voice had suddenly lost its accusing tone. He walked over and kneeled down next to me examining my various cuts and bruises with characteristic brusqueness. I had never seen him look so serious before. Not even during his morning bouts of wisdom. It unnerved me almost more than everything that had just happened. Whatever that was.

"Good question," I muttered, unable to come up with a suitable response. What the hell _had _just happened? That uncomfortable yet increasingly familiar feeling of being lost was resurfacing. _Nothing important,_ I imagined myself saying, _I was just thrown down the stairs and nearly killed by a sadistic, murderous old woman who I also think is a ghost._

"Excuse me?" asked Mr. Latchet. For a minute there, I thought he'd heard what I was thinking, but then I realized he had been responding to my muttered comment.

"I, um…_fell!_" This last word was yelped out unintentionally as he had taken my right arm to examine it, sending up a jagged stab of pain. I yanked my arm away, sending another stab my way. "Um, not to be rude or anything," I cradled my arm protectively, "But you're not a nurse or something, are you, Mr. Latchet?" I asked, hoping he'd get the point.

"Not exactly," he replied in all seriousness, "We'd better get you to one though, I think that's broken."

"You think?" I was unable to stop myself from responding.

At this, he gave me a dangerous look for a moment, then asked, "Can you walk?"

I thought about this. I felt slightly better than I had a little bit ago. I had had a few moments to breathe, and I wasn't trembling as badly, just a little shaky. I didn't know if I could make it up those stairs, though, let alone all the way to the nurse's office. Still, five minutes ago, I had thought I was going to die, and yet somehow I had managed to survive. I could manage this at least, I decided. "I think so."

I had barely made it to the top of the stairs, leaning heavily on Mr. Latchet, and I was already sweating profusely and trembling in fits and starts. I must've used up way more energy than I thought I had. I could only imagine what Mr. Latchet, who also happened to coach our wrestling and football teams, might be thinking of my less-than-stellar performance. We stopped for a minute to let me rest. Mr. Latchet looked at me critically. He pulled out his cell phone and his eyes narrowed. "Service is not very good in this hallway, is it? I would call the nurse, but it would seem that won't be possible. Do you have a cell phone with you, Fenton?"

Why hadn't I thought of that? I reached in my pocket for my phone and let out a groan. The touch screen was cracked beyond repair. "You stay here, then, and I'll go get a wheelchair from the nurse."

"No!" I burst out before he could walk away. The thought of being stuck here alone anywhere near psycho ghost sent chills down my spine. Mr. Latchet looked at me with that same critical expression. "Well, um, I mean, no, that's okay. I'm fine." I was not about to be left alone like a sitting duck.

That's when I heard it again. That noise.

_Step. Ssssst. Step. Sssst. _The sound of something being dragged. The unmistakable scent of cooked meat wafted through the air. I tensed, ready for who-knew-what. This was probably what the psycho-lady had been waiting for. If she wanted to chop me up now, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it the way I felt. The sound grew louder and louder, along with the scent, until a figure rounded the corner carrying a sack.

Except something was different this time. This figure was grunting and cursing as it went, and it also went by the name of Sam Manson. She continued to drag the sack, which must've been incredibly heavy the way she leaned back with all her weight to pull it, uttering creative insults along the way. She stopped short when she finally noticed us standing at the top of the steps in the hall.

"Oh," she remarked, adopting an expression of trained innocence that seemed unnatural on her face, "I wasn't expecting to run into anyone around here."

Mr. Latchet gave her a severe look. "Miss Manson, I will go easy on you and only sentence you to one more day's detention if you bring the nurse this way immediately."

She looked like she was ready to argue, then she caught sight of me, and her normally fierce expression changed to a surprised one.

"Whoah. You look terrible, Fenton," was all she said.

"Thanks." I mumbled, wishing I could just lay down. I was exhausted.

"And you look lovely today, too, Manson. Now please proceed before I decide not to be so lenient," Mr. Latchet responded without inflection.

A rebellious eyebrow rose on Sam's face, but then she glanced at me and her expression changed to one I don't think I had ever seen on her face. "Yes, sir" she saluted Mr. Latchet and turned around to head towards the nurse's office, seemingly unable to resist at least some small token of rebellion.

When she disappeared around the corner, Mr. Latchet helped me sink down to the floor and sit with my back against the wall. While I breathed deeply, grateful for the chance to rest, he continued to stand, staring down the hallway where Sam would be returning from. I was still nervous about psycho-lady returning, my senses on hyper-alert, always half-expecting the cold feeling of wrongness to creep up on me again. Mr. Latchet turned and scrutinized me for a moment, as if considering something, then asked, "You said you fell, right, Fenton?"

"Um…" I hesitated for a second. Why was he asking me again? Would he believe me if I told him the truth? _No, _I decided, _He'd probably just think I hit my head a little too hard. I'd probably think the same thing if I hadn't been there. _"That's right."

He grunted. "I see. It must have shaken you up pretty badly. Try to be more careful around stairs next time."

"Yeah…" I replied noncommittally.

After several long minutes of awkward silence, during which Mr. Latchet continued to stare down the hall like a wall-trained watchdog, and I continued to strain for any sign of the psycho ghost lady, Sam appeared around the corner accompanied by the school nurse.

Miss Smiles, the school nurse, didn't act very much like her name. In a word, she was, well…kind of a bitch. She always suspected each student of scheming and lying to get out of class. I'm not really sure what kept her at the school aside from a paycheck. I had never seen the woman smile, not even once. You only went to her if you were desperate, and even then, beware. I had never gone to see her myself, but I had heard some bad stories.

I was too tired to care, though. I was having trouble keeping my eyes open at this point. "This the boy?" She asked Mr. Latchet abrasively as if I wasn't even there. I might've been offended if I was awake enough.

"If you mean Mr. Daniel Fenton," Mr. Latchet replied pointedly, suddenly and inexplicably irritated, "In need of some attention, then yes, this is him."

Miss Smiles either didn't notice, or didn't care that Mr. Latchet seemed annoyed with her and pushed the wheelchair in front of me. "Up and at 'em," She commanded, "Into the chair." I sighed inwardly and steeled myself to stand up again. I just had to make it to the chair, I told myself. I couldn't understand why I felt so drained. As each moment passed, I felt worse instead of better for some reason. I just wanted to get out of here and relax. I was still tensed for psycho-lady's return.

I started to push myself up, leaning heavily against the wall. I was halfway up when I felt my legs start to give out from under me. Before I could fall though, a pair of arms caught me. To my utter surprise it wasn't Mr. Latchet, or even Miss Smiles who had caught me, but Sam Manson.

She was surprisingly strong for a girl of her stature. "You must have man arms." I mumbled feebly as she helped me into the wheelchair. Yes, I know. I'm not really sure where the hell that came from. I think I would've been kicking myself inwardly if I wasn't about to faint outright. The same rebellious eyebrow that had risen earlier now narrowed in unimpressed annoyance.

"You really know how to flatter a girl, don't you?" She asked.

"No, I just meant that you were surprisingly strong for a girl," I responded through the fogginess. Or, at least, I think I did. By then I was so exhausted I faded out almost as soon as I sat down.

I woke up, sometime later, confused to find myself in my own bed. I vaguely remembered being pushed to the nurse's office, where I dozed until my mom showed up geared and ready to save the day as always. I remembered my half-mumbled pleads for her to please calm down and that it wasn't that big of a deal. She didn't seem to hear me though and took me straight to the emergency room where, struggling stay awake, I had been examined and had my arm casted by a very busy-seeming medical person of some sort. After that, I didn't really remember much else. I wasn't even really sure how I'd made it to my bed where I lay. I shivered and burrowed under my blankets a bit. It was cold and my arm felt better but still ached. My ribs were throbbing uncomfortably too.

For a long moment I just lay there, sorting things out in my head. I felt myself redden slightly when I remembered my conversation with Sam Manson. I must've looked so stupid falling all over like some sick puppy. "You must have man arms." Had I really said that? I stopped in this train of thought. Why in the world did I care what Sam Manson thought of me? I shook my head at how ridiculous I was being.

Although, a big part of me was hoping no one else at school had seen me like that.

Finally, I tried to sit up, but started when I realized a weight was holding my blanket down. I let out an involuntary yelp and fell out of the bed, landing as gracefully as you can on your rear end when you're in a tangle of blankets. A little girl with black hair was sitting in a chair by the side of my bed, her head resting on my blanket. Apparently, she had dozed off watching over me while I slept. She seemed insubstantial, almost celestial in the glow of the moon through my window.

While having someone watch over you in your sleep may be comforting to some, it is not really comforting when I did not, nor had I ever known a little girl with black hair. The girl started awake with a little squeak of fright. Then she disappeared almost before I could register the wide-eyed expression on her face. Almost as suddenly as she disappeared, I noticed it was no longer cold.

I was puzzling together the connection between the two near-simultaneous occurrences when my sister's head peaked in through the doorway. "Danny?" She asked, concerned, "Is everything okay?"

Before I could respond, I saw Tucker push his way into my room. "Danny! You're finally awake!"

"Yes, he is," Jazz confirmed, perturbed, "And still recovering from a fractured radius near the wrist, bruised ribs, a gash on his throat, and one major shock. Now is not the time to-"

"How long have I been out?" I asked, ignoring my sister.

"Dude! You've been out for _three days!"_ Tucker announced, as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"What!" I exclaimed, horrified. I had definitely felt tired as hell, but _three days! _

"I'm just kidding," Tucker said, laughing, "You've been asleep since you got home from the emergency room, which I guess was five hours ago. You should've seen your face." Jazz rolled her eyes. I chuckled uneasily, more out of relief than anything else, shaking my head.

I glanced at my clock. It was late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. How long had we been at the emergency room? My mom must've waited with me for hours. I wondered briefly where she was. _Probably asleep after all that time waiting up with me at the ER._ Then I looked at Tucker. "Have you been here the whole time?" I asked, incredulous yet grateful to have a good friend like Tuck around.

"Yes," Jazz answered for him, "Since school let out." The look on her face told me she hadn't really enjoyed it all that much.

"By the way, what are you doing on the floor?" Tuck asked, apparently oblivious to Jazz's annoyance.

I paused, considered telling him, but decided I didn't want to tell him with Jazz in the room. "I, um, fell," I explained lamely instead.

"You seem to be doing a lot of that," Tuck commented, his usual tactful self, "You had kind of a crappy day today, didn't you?"

"Tell me about it," I muttered, thinking about the past two days. Had it really been only two days? I really wasn't sure. I was beginning to have a headache just thinking about it, and I never got headaches.

"That's right, you have. That's why I think it's a good idea if you got some sleep and if Tucker headed home now that he's seen you're okay," Jazz interjected before the conversation could go any further. I hated to admit it, but Jazz was right. I was still tired, though not nearly as exhausted as before, and could use some more sleep.

Tucker, in one of his rare moments of understanding, said, "Okay, it's good to see you're alright. Take care, Danny. See you tomorrow or the next day. Whenever you come back. If I were you, I'd jump on the chance to take some time off, I mean-"

"Okay," Jazz interjected, "Let's go, Tucker. Good night, Danny."

"Good night, Tuck. Good night, Jazz." I called as Jazz closed the door. I disentangled myself from my blanket and climbed back in bed. Laying there, I closed my eyes to sleep.

Thoughts kept me awake for a long time after that. These…_things_ I was able to do, these _abilities, _I guess, had started with the lab incident. So had these weird experiences. I had been in denial, not really wanting to accept what had happened, but if I really thought about it, there was no way all this couldn't be real. It wasn't just the abilities either.

Now I was getting these cold feelings, and then these creepy people who floated and went through walls and disappeared were showing up. I couldn't deny it any longer.

I was seeing dead people.


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.: Replacement of Old Chapter 5**

Chapter 5

Sleep after Tucker and Jazz's visit was harder to come by than I had expected. I was exhausted, that was for sure, but I just couldn't seem to stop running through things over and over in my mind. It was as though going intangible had drained me of energy or something. The energy to do these things definitely came from me, and not some outside source I'd decided. It explained why I always felt so tired after I did it. For a long time I just lay there, contemplating the events of the previous day. The incident in the lab, the subsequent symptoms I seemed to be exhibiting, and the event that had landed me at the bottom of the steps.

And that freakish dream I had had the night before. The one where I wasn't myself, like I was in someone else's body experiencing what they were experiencing. Inside the meat packing place or whatever it was. Out of everything else, that was what had me freaked out the most. The person whose eyes I had seen through was one sick twisted individual. The way they were getting so excited about chopping up all this meat made me sick to my stomach. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that one of the bodies I had seen was a _human _body. I hoped I was wrong about that. But what did all this have to do with everything else?

By now I was sure the Ghost Portal was definitely responsible for me continuously going intangible and possibly responsible for more than that. Was the Zombie Lady (as I had dubbed the thing that had pushed me down the stairs) somehow related? And what about the little girl I had just seen? And when was I going to get a chance to really sort out this whole intangible thing? And what about the way I seemed to sense these ghosts (because that's definitely what they were).

It was with these questions and more rolling around in my head that I eventually drifted off back to sleep.

_The bones ached! Deep down to the warm, fluid marrow. But this time, they ached with an emotion. With satisfaction. All these years of torment, of wasted sorrow, answered by the red revenge seeping onto the carpet from the mass that had once moved and talked. The bag of flesh lie there, radiating the life that was slowly ebbing out. _

_But it was more than revenge that was satisfying. It realized, the thrill of the kill, of the taking of life, of justice served, was intoxicating. It was this realization that was both terrifying and liberating at the same time. Slowly, deliberately, the bag of flesh was dragged, dragged so it could be hidden. No one could know._

_But wait…a new idea was forming! A deliciously savory idea that would both fulfill the need for secrecy and make the revenge all the sweeter. It was time to take the flesh to prepare it for what would be its final purpose. _

I woke up less violently this time, but I was still in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. The dream had been shorter this time, but no less disturbing. The more I thought about it, the less sense it made though, so I decided not to think about it. I glanced at my clock; it was already 10 in the morning. My parents, all three of them, must've decided to let me have the day off of school. I breathed a sigh of relief; school was the last thing I wanted to have to deal with at this point.

I lay there for a moment, before I decided I was tired of lying down and I slowly crawled out of bed. My chest ached and I pulled up my shirt to see some nasty bruises. My entire body felt stiff and sore, and it was a chore just to change my shirt with the cast on my arm, but I wasn't doing bad considering. In fact, I felt pretty refreshed after what must've been at least 12 hours of sleep.

When I went downstairs to the kitchen, I was surprised to find my parents sitting at the table in plain clothes. They looked up as soon as I walked in, as if they had been expecting me for some time.

"Danny," my mom said brightly, "You're awake. How're you feeling? You look a little pale. Would you like some breakfast this morning? I was waiting until you got up to start cooking."

Okay, this was weird. My mom hadn't cooked me breakfast in ages. She usually only did on holidays or other special occasions. Besides, they had been so dedicated to their work in the lab lately, we hadn't even had the pleasure of enjoying their delicious renditions of pre-packed and frozen food. I could definitely use some home-cooked goodness right about now. "Um, I'm good, I'm feeling fine. Breakfast sounds great, thanks," I managed as I took a seat across from my dad.

She immediately set to work, putting the bacon in the pan, while my dad got up and set to cutting up fresh potatoes for some hash browns, asking me how I'd like my eggs. Pretty soon the irresistible smell of bacon wafted over to the table, making my mouth water. They were really going all out. They weren't even in their lab coats yet. Normally by now, they'd be elbow-deep in their current project. Something was definitely up, I decided.

But it wasn't until we were all seated, with my mom watching me try to butter my toast left-handed, that I realized what this was all about. They had been really worried about me. Of course they would be, any normal parent would be. But sometimes it was hard for me to think of my parents as normal. I was momentarily touched, until I began feeling somewhat awkward about it all. I didn't like them being worried about me. It made me feel…uncomfortable, almost guilty even.

"Thank you for breakfast, guys. It's…uh… really good," I said.

"I'm glad you like it. We haven't had a proper meal in a long time, have we?" mom replied.

"No… I don't think we have," my dad answered her thoughtfully, as if somewhat surprised by his own confirmation.

"So, Mr. Latchet from school told us you fell down some stairs, and that's how you got hurt, is that right, Danny?" my mom asked. It took me a moment to recognize her tone at that last statement for what it was. She wasn't so sure that was the truth. At first I thought she somehow knew something about the ghost lady, but then she continued, "Your dad was bullied a lot in school when he was a kid. In those days, it was a sign of weakness to tell someone. But it's okay to be honest about these things with an adult. Really."

I was both relieved and baffled by this. Relieved because she didn't actually know. But also baffled because I had no idea how to respond to my mom's suspicions. I briefly wondered if Jazz had said something to her.

"Uh, thanks mom," I stammered, "But really, I just fell down some stairs."

"Okay," my mom said slowly, as if trying to leave the door open to me, "But you know you can always talk to us, anytime, okay?" She assured me with a face that held so much concern that I almost broke down right then and told her everything that had happened for the past few days. But I was worried they might just think I was crazy. I mean, I wasn't sure if that wasn't true. And what if I wasn't? What then? I needed more answers before I would feel comfortable talking to them.

So instead I just responded, "Thanks mom, I know."

She continued to give me a strange look for a little bit after that. It was one of those mom looks, you know? Like she suspected I wasn't giving her the whole truth, but didn't want to push me too far. Finally, though, she seemed satisfied. A little bit later, my mom finished her last bite and said, "Alright, then, Danny, your dad and I are going to head down to the lab for a bit today. Let us know if you need anything." Then she rose from her chair and gave me a quick kiss on the head, like she used to when I was little. My dad even gave me a light pat on the shoulder as he followed her out of the kitchen and to the lab.

I'm not sure how much longer I stayed there afterward, contemplating. I was pretty sure I had just had an almost normal moment with my parents. Which, for our family, was very abnormal. It had ended almost as soon as it started, but I remained in my chair for what seemed like forever, feeling like I had just missed something important.

About five hours later, I was standing in my bedroom, panting and sweating like an over-worker dog, when I finally sat down in a heap in front of my bed. I leaned back against the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"Phew!" I breathed and wiped some moisture from my forehead, only to stop in surprise when my hand came right through it. Then I smiled.

I was getting pretty good at this.

I had been experimenting with going intangible since I'd come upstairs from breakfast. It had been a little hit or miss at first. It seemed like without my life being threatened, it was a little harder to concentrate enough to get it just right. Slowly, as things progressed, it was becoming more and more reliable, though. For the past few hours, I hadn't gone intangible once without meaning to. I was even going intangible practically on-command. I was even getting good at focusing where exactly I wanted to go intangible without making my whole body go intangible. This most recent attempt had been a pretty big success. I had hardly thought about it for a few moments when, like magic, I had turned intangible again.

I was busy patting myself on the back and praising my awesomeness when there was a knock at my door.

Panic shot through me like a bolt of lightning. I was still intangible. What would happen when whoever that was came in my room and saw me like that? "Just a second!" I called, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. Without thinking, I searched crazily for somewhere to hide. It only occurred to me a few alarming seconds later that I didn't really need to hide.

Struggling to focus through my rapidly beating heart, I willed myself to become a solid 16-year-old Danny again. There was another knock at the door, more insistent this time. "I said just a second!" I was practically shouting at the door now, my voice creeping up a few embarrassing octaves.

Okay, maybe I wasn't getting as good at this as I thought. _Think solid thoughts, _I urged myself, _you've been at this all day!_ Whoever was at the door obviously couldn't take a hint, because after a third knock, the door handle starting turning without waiting for me to respond. A second later, the door flew open.

"Danny? What's going on? Why aren't you opening your door?" It was Jazz. Of course it was Jazz. Who else always managed to show up at just the right time to make things as awkward as they could possibly be?

For a few breathless moments, I waited for the look of shock and horror to contort her features. When it didn't come, it was hard not to let out a very loud sigh of relief. I was solid again, I realized and instead of shock and horror, Jazz's face held a look of concern. "Danny? What are you doing? Did you fall again?"

With a start, I realized I was still slumped against my bed on the floor. I felt a hot flush of embarrassment. They were going to start dressing me up in pads and a football helmet if I kept up this falling streak. "No, I'm just resting." I told her. I crossed my arms defensively.

"On the ground?" my sister asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Yes," I retorted irritably, "Why? Is that against the rules or something?"

For once, my sister seemed to decide one conversation wasn't worth having. She held up her hands as if to ward off an attack with raised eyebrows. "Okay, Danny, whatever you need to do. I hope you feel rested right now, because you have a guest."

It wasn't until that point that I noticed someone was standing behind my sister. At first I didn't recognize the figure, but then she stepped forward into better lighting and waved awkwardly like it wasn't something she did often. It was Sam Manson.

I blinked in a few moments of blissful confusion. I couldn't think of a single reason why she had shown up. Then I felt my cheeks grow warmer than ever. I shot up to my feet and glared at my sister. "A little warning would've been nice."

"I knocked _three_ times, and I _did _warn you," Jazz said, growing annoyed herself, "You obviously weren't listening." Then she muttered almost to herself, "Something that seems to run in this family." She turned to Sam with an authoritative air. "Just make sure you don't stick around too long, Danny still needs to rest."

I would've rolled my eyes at her, but she was already turning away and marching to her own room.

Finally, I turned to Sam Manson….and had no idea what to say. The first time we'd met hadn't really gone too well, and the last time we'd seen each other hadn't gone a whole lot better. At least she hadn't been mad at me this second time around. We sat there for a few moments, each waiting for the other to talk first. Finally, I decided I better not let the world's most awkward silence go on forever, "So, were you in the-" I started, just as she began speaking herself.

We spent a few more moments in uncomfortable silence before Sam finally spoke again. "So…" she said, maintaining an indifferent expression even as her hands fidgeted, "You sister seems…" and she stopped for a moment, like she wasn't sure what to say, then finally decided on a tried-and-true standby, "…nice" she finished.

"Yeah…" I ran my hand through my hair unconsciously, "Jazz is a little crazy." I managed a smile.

"Heh," she gave a half-hearted attempt at laughing.

"So…" I struggled to think of something to say. Finally, I blurted, "What are you doing here?" It ended up coming out a lot more forceful than I'd meant it. I really had no idea why she'd shown up here.

Her hands started fidgeting even more. She didn't seem to notice the tone of my question at all. "Well, actually," Sam's face had suddenly become a bright shade of red. I didn't even know she was capable of the emotion we lesser teens knew as embarrassment until then. "I came here to see if…if you were alright."

It was my turn to turn beat red. Before I could respond to this bombshell, she went on, "I mean, last time I saw you, you looked pretty...bad. And, uh, now I see you look fine. So, I'm going to go ahead and head out now." She quickly turned on her heel and started towards the staircase that led downstairs. She was out of sight before anything else came out of my open mouth.

Out of all the crazy things that I'd been through the past few days, that might've been the weirdest one.

I fell back on my bed with a sigh. Now, on top of everything else, I was going to have to figure out this Sam Manson mystery. First she gets mad at me. Then she ignores more. And now all of sudden she's worried about my health? Well, maybe not that worried. She'd left like she was being chased out of the house by Zombie Lady herself.

As I lay there staring up at the ceiling, I felt my eyes growing heavier and heavier. Before long, they were closed, and I drifted off to sleep yet again.

…

_It was cold again. It seeped through the skin and burrowed down deep into the bones, making them ache. Oh, how the bones_ached. _Always aching with a deep hurt that was more than pain. So deep down. Beneath the cartilage. Into the marrow. The warm, flowing marrow. Always, the dreadful cold. When __would this endless, numbing, aching cold ever leave? _

_But that wasn't important._

_It was all so perfect now. The flesh was nearly prepared. It had been separated by the helpful steel. Soon, it would be added to the nurturing material. It was so beautiful. So poetic._

_Oh, but the ache! The never-ending ache! _

_But that was okay. Soon, the separated, prepared flesh in the nurturing mixture would be put in the burning hellfire. Just standing near its fire made the insides flow in excitement. It was like a circle! Perfect!_

_But why couldn't the fire be warm for its own flesh? It was nothing but icy, aching cold that never ended. In the hands now, why weren't the hands moving correctly? Then the horror started, from deep down. It wouldn't be shoved away. It kept on coming up, fighting upwards. The steel suddenly fell from the hand. And suddenly there was screaming! _

I woke up so suddenly I nearly fell off my bed again, thrashing in the sheets and hitting my nightstand with my casted arm. When I finally realized I was in my own bedroom and in my own bed, I fought to slow down my breathing. My whole body felt clammy.

I shivered brought a shaking hand to cover my face.

_Okay, these dreams are getting weirder and weirder._ I thought. _And worse_.

God, what was going on with me? First the weird incident with the weird-looking me in the lab. Then these crazy, wacked-out nightmares that were rapidly devolving into nothing but confusion. Then all of a sudden, I could just phase through things just like…like a ghost.

My breath stopped halfway to my lungs.

Was I…turning into a ghost or something? Oh man. That was it, I realized. I must be turning into a ghost! Did that mean I was dying? Or dead?

I needed to tell someone something. I couldn't sit here and live through this nightmare without someone's help, or I was really going to go ghost. Beyond ghost.

Suddenly, I realized what I'd missed earlier, and exactly who I needed to tell. I'd had an opportunity to tell them at breakfast, and I'd passed it up. What had I been thinking? Why in the world would I _not _tell them? They were the resident experts on ghosts, and whatever had just happened to me had something to do with them. If there was a way to fix this, my parents would be able to figure it out. I glanced at my clock.

I didn't even bother to change out of my pajamas. It was getting late. If my parents were even still in their lab, they wouldn't be there for much longer. I quickly headed out of my room down the stairs to the lab door.

Note to the wise: opening the door to the family's lab with one arm in a cast is _not _easy. After wrestling with the huge hunk of military-grade metal and muttering a few insults its way, I finally managed to rotate the wheel that unsealed the door enough times for the door to open.

The light was still on, that was a good sign. My parents were still in the lab.

"Mom? Dad?" I called down as I headed down the steps deeper into the lab. There was no response, but I could hear voices now. Maybe they hadn't heard me, I decided.

I moved faster now, eager to get this over with. I would talk with my parents and they would figure something out, and this would all be over and done with. As I got closer, I could see my parents more clearly now, and they had their backs to me. They were talking excitedly to each other, their enthusiasm approaching ghost levels. I hesitated for a moment. Curious as to what could have them so wound up.

"Something was _definitely_ here," My dad was saying, talking so fast and animatedly that one of his wildly gesticulating arms nearly took out a glass beaker on the lab table. "The ectoplasmic readings are off the charts! I've never seen readings like this! The ghost portal must have opened! Maddie! This is amazing! Do you realize what this means?"

My mom was smiling up at my dad, an expression of ecstatic delight on her face. She didn't say anything though, and she didn't have to. My dad was continuing, unable to contain his own delight, "We were right! This whole time! We were right! We have to be!" Without warning, he grabbed my mom right off her feet like she weighed nothing and gave her a fierce hug.

I heard my mom laugh even as she yelped in surprise. "Jack! Careful, you might break something!" She scolded him as she giggled. Okay…apparently my dad and mom were even crazier than I thought. "Besides, this is just the beginning; we still have a lot of work to do." My mom reminded him. My dad's buzz was only killed slightly. He stopped talking for a second, but he still had a huge grin on his face that didn't look like it was leaving any time soon.

After a moment, he set my mom down. I started to head forward again, taking this as my queue to speak up. "You're right, Maddie. You always are," My dad was saying, "First we'll need a way to prove what we've found here…." My dad paused, thinking out loud.

What he said next sent a chill through me so cold, it felt like my entire body had gone permanently intangible.

"We're going to have to capture the ghost…run some tests…maybe even…" Everything else he went on saying faded behind the rushing sound that was filling my ears.

I was frozen where I stood, halfway to my parents in the middle of the lab. I should still talk to them, I tried to tell myself. They were my _parents_ after all. If there was anyone in the world I should trust with this, it would be my parents. But then I thought back to years and years of them obsessing over all this ghost stuff. This was their life. They had been working on it since before I'd even been born. I'd seen how they could be, like everything disappeared behind them as they latched on to one discovery or another, and nothing else in the world mattered.

Images of iron bars and poking needles flashed in the back of my mind. My parents always meant well, they really did, but at that moment, as I watched them plan the capture of this "ghost," I wasn't sure that was enough.

At that moment, if they had turned around, they would have seen their son slowly backing away in their wake, then turning and running back up the stairs.


End file.
